


Dogbox

by PsiFie



Category: 101 Dalmatian Street (Cartoon)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:34:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27330538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsiFie/pseuds/PsiFie
Summary: If a kid goes into a box a kid and comes out a dog, what happens in between? I guess we never got to see.A what-if about Hunter’s time in the shipping container.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	Dogbox

6 months. 

As Hunter taps his fingers on the tin floor, the sound echoes around the 4 walls of the shipping container. 6 months was how long the timer was set for, how long it would take to get go around Switzerland and back, to make their fur as soft as Cruella had demanded. She wouldn’t have it any other way. And it had been an... unfortunate setback, that at the last second he had ended up in their place instead. But surely, even though his phone was lost, he’d be reported as a missing person soon. Cruella will call and realize that when he doesn’t pick up, something went wrong. After all, she’s the most clever person in the world, isn’t she? She always said that was the key to her success.

Any moment now. Surely. 

He holds his breath and complete silence rings out across the room. Faintly, he can hear the crush of waves and creaking of the boat, and the shipping containers he must be surrounded by.

Okay, maybe he’ll have to wait a little longer. It’s okay—his lack of patience is probably what cost him those darned puppies. Fortunately, they won’t be going anywhere, and he’ll be back on track and capture them down in no time. 

————————

There’s water in here, which is good. He’s already drank a lot of it, because it must have been a few hours. Hunter has found that he’s starting to get hunger, but it’s the only stuff he’s got. Even then, it’s water for dogs. Disgusting, really. 

Cruella has to have a plan, though. She must be waiting to hear back from him, so maybe it’ll take a few hours. He’s been through worse, it’s not that bad. 

Reaching for the water, he fills up another dog bowl with water from one of the spouts. 

————————

When he wakes up, nothing’s changed. The container creaks, the waves crash distantly. He’s starting to get used to it, and that’s weird, so Hunter rolls over, sitting up. Peeling the dog blanket off, he starts pacing the container. He’s surprised to find out just how quickly he can walk from one end to the other. 

But it’s no matter, it’s enough space to start planning again. Determined, he reaches into the mess of dog supplies in the back only to find nothing but toys, more blankets, bags of food and more water. No paper or string to be found! Frustrated, he stomps and throws a toy as hard as he can at the wall, but it just bounces back and bonks him the nose. As he squeezes his temple, he decides not cry. 

Hunter already did that enough when he first got trapped in here and it didn’t do him any good. Cruella’s coming, whether he’s calling out for her or not, and he needs to be in good condition when she arrives. Straightening out his collar, he fixes his clothes and hair as best he can in the near-darkness, and squeezes out some more water, cleaning his face with it. It’s not a proper facial, but it’ll do for now! Picking up an armful of toys, he starts to arrange them on the floor in ways that make sense. If the duck is all dogs and capturing them, and the squeaky ball is the weird obsessed with dark magic dog, and the chewable positron the science dog, and this pile of kibble the dirt puppy...

Letting out a deep sigh, he flops backward onto the hard tin floor, and the sound reverberates through the vast, empty space. That had been quite a bit of work, he has more schemes now for when he gets out of here. Maybe Cruella will be entertained by hearing them. How long did all that planning even take? For the umpteenth time, Hunter wishes he had his phone, not to call or check his facebook but just to see if minutes are still passing. It felt like forever. 

His stomach aches and Hunter grimaces. Eying the pile of kibble on the floor warily, he shakes his head. The thought of eating it just turns his stomach more!

————————  
So dog food is disgusting, but dying is worse, Hunter reasons. Now that he’s finally gotten some food down, even if he’ll forever deny what that food was, he feels a lot better. As he sits against a wall and tosses one of the bouncy chew toys against it, so it’ll return to him on every throw, he thinks. This might not be so bad. Just a few more hours, right?

Great Aunt Cruella’s always taken care of him. Well, he does a pretty good job of taking care of himself, too, because she raised him right. Thanks to her he’s very independent, and capable of working for her all on his own. He’s going to be a very useful, she’s going to be so happy when she finally gets the fur coat. Maybe she’ll even... move on, perhaps? Stop obsessing over it. Like he’s heard the gossip, that some people said that she was hung up on it and it was something she would get over. What they didn’t get what how important it was to her. As soon as she gets that fur coat, maybe she’ll have more time for working on other things.

It would be impunity to think she would have more time for him, though. And there’d be no point, because he is already perfectly smart and independent, and he doesn’t really need anything. (But maybe since she would have more time, maybe there would be like a day out, and they could laugh about ruining less important peoples days by hurting them or making them lose their jobs or fooling them and she might even be impressed with how clever he is now. She’d have to be, because he’s really smart. Hunter is like, the smartest person he knows. Besides Cruella, of course.)

Soon as he gets out of this crate he’ll show everybody that, especially those stupid puppies. They’ll regret the day they ever chose to mess with him. 

Hunter yawns. He’s got a bit more time before he feels tired enough to sleep.

————————  
How many days has it been?

How many nights?

The last time he slept, he made a scratch on the wall. He can see it now, from where he sits curled up on a pile of dog beds. He probably should have starting doing that sooner, when his undercut finally grew out. Now he doesn’t know how many days it’s been.

Not that tracking his sleep is a good way to keep follow of the time, given how inconsistent he could be. Maybe he’s not even sleeping for eight hours, just for four, and his record is half as long as it should be. He doesn’t have any way of knowing. 

Squeezing his eyes shut tight as possible Hunter wills his phone to magically move from somewhere it was dropped in the Dalmatians house, into his own hands. The round duck-colored ball in his hand squeaks as he squeezes it. 

Nothing happens. It’s not surprising nor is it concerning. Hunter sits up. He still feels tired but there’s things to do. 

Maybe the dogs eat more then one brand of kibble. After all, eating the same thing all day every day is... miserable. Maybe he should have purchased more different kinds of food for them. 

Shaking his head, he growls. Pathetic, he shouldn’t be thinking about making things *nicer* for them. They’re the ones who got him stuck in here! Stuck in this infernal hellscape! 

Stomping about and throwing things as hard as he can doesn’t do anything more then tire him out, though, as it always does. At least it’s something to do besides think. 

In the chaos, the little rubbery chew toy wound up near his hand again. Once more, he tosses it, and it bounces off the wall back to him. He tosses it again. 

————————

The ground heaves and tosses below his feet, and he sits back, hugging a pillow to his chest. Dog toys and kibble skitter across the floor as the whole world tilts around him. His heart slams against his chest in confusion before realizing what’s going on— The crate’s being moved. Standing up, he needs a second to gain his bearings before he starts banging on the front door of the storage box and yelling for help. 

As he stops to catch his breath, he hears the distant sound of talking below him and the loud whirr of a crane. As he presses his ear to the bottom of the crate, he can tell the voices sound foreign—they’re not speaking English. Still, they should be able to tell someone’s trapped in here! Standing up again, he starts pounding on the door. 

But even after slamming the the sides of the crate more, nothing’s changed. The crate rattles, and everything jumps as it sets down, knocking him over. Sitting on the floor and gasping for breath, he lifts his head as the world stops shaking again.   
So they didn’t hear him. He balls up his fists in his hair and pulls. It’s fine, because Cruella’s going to find him. She must have called already, but not realized as to why he couldn’t pick up. Even if she doesn’t call him, he’ll notice he’s not posting to insta, right? Somebody has to know he’s missing. Someone has to know he’s gone, and be looking for him. They’ll find him.  
————————  
Irritated, Hunter crunches on kibble because there’s nothing else to do. Something about this ship is different then the last, and it’s been constantly kicking back and forth like freakin’ carnival ride for the past few hours. Luckily if he pins himself to a corner, he won’t be tumbling back and forth, but everything else in the dammed shipping container will be. He slept for a little while, but it’s hard to rest with the racket of things skittering and flying all over the place. Clearly, he didn’t not think this through.

Grabbing another piece of kibble, he grinds it between his teeth while glaring at the dog toys rolling back and forth. It’s so stupid, he can’t even bounce them off the wall and reliably catch them anymore. See, the dogs were lucky, because there were way more of them then there is him. At least they’d have each other to deal with shit like this.

The sky cracks with a thunderous boom, and Hunter ducks his head, squeezing his eyes closed. He’s never been one to be afraid of thunder, but with all the rest of the tossing and turning and the pelting rain on the roof, it’s more unsettling and startling then it ever was up in his tower. 

Maybe he never should have even tried to catch those dogs. 

...No. There was no other option. Besides, they were all dreadful awful things anyway. Surely they’re going to get, like, the WORST karmic retribution for this. And he’ll be outside like this never even happened, riding elevators and walking around the streets again with a new, suave haircut.

...it’s cold in here. Cold and dark. One of the blankets was heated but there’s nothing to plug it into, so Hunter shivers and clutches it close anyway, pretending like it’s warm. 

He remembers what the sun looked like, he remembers what it was like to walk in a park. It’s still out there. And since he remembers it, he can imagine it, and take refuge in his imagination.

————————

It wouldn’t be so bad if he was a dog. 

Because like, there’s everything a dog could ever want in here. There’s fun toys, soft blankets, and as much kibble as a puppy could eat. There’s also constant swaying that never stops. If the dogs had been in here, they’d be fine, but unfortunately, he is not a dog. Hunter sighs. 

Maybe if he wants to catch a dog, he’s got to think like a dog. Somebody said that once, right? Thoughtfully picking up a ball, he squeezes it and throws. 

His beat-up sneakers clank along the bottom of the crate as he runs to the other side, jumping to catch it. He misses, and it bounces back the other direction. Pausing, he stares at it before chasing it once more, finally capturing it. 

...it’s kind of fun. But imagine, that’s something he could use to catch the puppies! Like, if he can throw a ball and they chase it, and he has a trap on the other end, then they’ll enter the trap, right? Couldn’t that work? 

Pushing his hair out of his eyes and tossing the ball lightly in his hand again, he tosses it one more as hard as he can to the other side of the enclosure.   
————————  
Something’s changed again—he’s started feeling a lot better, Cruella would have called it an attitude adjustment. She always hated it when he’d whine about something, so that’s what she say he needed. An attitude adjustment, a way of thinking about something so that it wasn’t worth complaining about. (Though complaining to anyone else but his Great-Aunt was fine, after all—he was a De Vil!)

And really, kibble’s not so bad. Dogs eat it, after all. The ball is fun to chase and the blankets are warm. He thinks about dogs a lot, the big ones, the little ones, the fluffy ones and the spotted ones. What would they think of this place? Well, they’d probably like it. Some people say that dogs talk to each other. Hunter doesn’t think that’s true, but they do react differently when he spoke to them. Then wouldn’t there be a way to know what they were saying? How would dogs talk to each other? 

Sometimes he feels mad, really mad. So he’ll tear things up, rip and break and shred and scream until he feels better, and then he’ll sleep again. There’s always food to eat, and nothing ever changes here. It’s safe, in that way, now that he’s gotten used to it.   
————————

Things are tilting again. It’s confusing. Something loud is above him and it’s scaring him, and there’s voices he can’t see. So, he starts yelling. Demanding to be left alone, because this is his space! His territory! And shockingly, he gets a response.

Someone barks back. She sounds concerned, and desperate, at the tone of the dog’s voice tightens something in Hunter’s chest. Desperate scrabbling can be heard at the corner of the container, from the other side. Confused, he barks back, running back and forth around the space, until his voice is raw and scratchy. The scratching at the corner stops, and he hears loud, low voice. The words are confusing. Something about the dogs belonging to the devil and having to leave the crate alone. Which is strange, there’s no devils in here! Just him, but that’s fine. 

The voice and the whining of the dog fades, and   
————————  
“Who are you?”  
Weird, it’s that female dog again. He sniffs at the edge of the container, pacing back and forth, but he can’t pick up any of her smell. Just his own. Frankly, he’s kind of concerned at this strange dog even being here!  
“Who are you?” He returns, with a bit of a growl. He is very tough?  
“Ship’s dog. I make sure there’s no stowaways aboard this thing and keep my people company. It’s lonely but rewarding work,” She huffs back, sounding annoyed. “You never answered my question.”  
He does not feel like answering questions so he won’t. “What are you doing here?” It’s almost like she’s just a voice, but she has to be on the other side of the container. She makes a sound of distain and confusion.  
“On the ship?? You... do know you’re on a ship, right?”  
He scrunches up his nose. Pacing around, he picks up a toy duck and shakes it. He is on a ship. In a box, on a ship.  
“...yes?”  
“Oh you do not sound well, that *voice*,” The ship’s dog frets. “It’s so high, and scratchy—are you getting enough food in there? You sound like no more then a puppy, my goodness.” She yips, and scratches at the door again. He can hear her stand up and walk over to the front of the door, sniffing at something above his head.   
“...there’s water in here. And kibble.” He sniffs, sitting down and staring at the door. The voice hums, sounding thankful.  
“I suppose there’d have to be. Or you wouldn’t still be around.” She says, rather matter-of-factly. “I already investigated, but there’s what seems to be a button here, with a big red number. I tried pressing it and every other way of getting in, but nothing worked. You’re really locked in there.”  
“...the number’s a timed lock. What’s it say?” He asks. Is he dreaming? This interaction doesn’t really feel... real.  
The dog reads off the numbers one by one, and he transcribes them as she talks in his head.   
“...024:013:26:53. I think I got those right, I’m a little rusty with numbers.” She sounds displeased. “The last number keeps ticking down, always changing. That’d be seconds, right.” Her voice moves as she drops back down, no longer looking at the timer. “Either way that numbers awfully big. How long have you been in there, pup?”  
She sounds concerned, but right now he’s not entirely sure she’s real. “...a while.” He admits. Things feel... confusing. Like something broke somehow. Sitting with his back leaning against the metal door, he stares at the vast, dark emptiness echoing in front of him, and the chaos of toys, kibble and water strewn across the floor.   
“You don’t sound okay.” There’s that voice again, sounding concerned like before. “Gosh, I wish I could do anything to get you out of there. Pups don’t belong in spots like that. I tried to get my human do something, but he said...” the ship’s dog lowers her to a whisper. “You belong to the devil.”  
He’s not sure what to say back to that. She sounds curious, like she’s expecting more, but Hunter just doesn’t know what to think.  
“It’s alright,” she says, voice gentle. “If the timer’s any indication, you’ll be out of there soon. I know it.”  
He doesn’t know if he believes her. Maybe if he asks a question he’ll know if she’s real or not.  
“What’s it look like out there?”  
“What’s it—why—“ She sounds confused, but pauses. “Well, hmmm. It’s a very bright day out. The sun’s far up in the bright blue sky, though there’s a few clouds tomorrow. I heard over the ship’s communication that there’s going to be rain tomorrow, but I don’t think there will. I can’t smell it,” she states, almost proudly. Hunter knows he can hear the rain ringing hollow on the top and side of the container, but he can’t ever feel it so it’s weird. “There’s a bit of a breeze on the deck, and you’re in a big, red, shipping container, surrounded by a few other brightly colored ones. There’s a yellow one to your left and a blue one to your right. My human’s very big with a ruddy complexion, and a greying beard. There’s a smaller human with dark skin and curly hair on the ship too, and me? Oh I’m not that big at all, little black dog with brown spots on her nose and ears.” She laughs. “Don’t need to be big to do my job, though.” She sounds proud.  
Hunter closes his eyes so he can’t see any bit of the shipping container he’s trapped in. He thinks of a sunny sky and rain clouds and colors but he can barely imagine it. It’s like nothing fits together, some parts are too big and some too small. Maybe she’s lying. But accusing her sounds just too mean, even for him.   
“I can’t see it,” he admits. His voice is very small and it doesn’t even sound like his own.  
“...that’s okay,” the dog tries to reassure him, but she sounds so sad. “You’re going to be alright.”  
“Everything’s going to be fine.”   
————————  
The next few days are very confusing. He still plays with his toys like normal and eats and sleeps, but every few hours the ship’s dog will visit and talk to him. She’s very kind, and Hunter’s pretty convinced she’s very smart too. For a dog, at least. She’ll sit by the carrier and talk to him for hours, even if he doesn’t really feel like talking back. It seems like she’s really worried about him, and her concern makes him feel... odd.   
Tonight, she’s describing. Apparently, some of her humans made a fancier meal, saw another ship on the sea, and tried to go fishing but didn’t catch anything. When she’s done, she starts describing the stars to him.   
“And the one—oh, it’s the most important!” He hears a delight in her voice. “It’s Sirius, the Dog Star. He looks after us, you know! Somebody’s got to look after the dogs.”  
But... he’s not a dog, is he? But only dogs can talk to dogs. It’s confusing. But when he tells her that, she just laughs.  
“Of course you’re a dog. Only dogs can talk to dogs, silly. You’re just very young, didn’t you say you’ve been in there for six months?”  
Her faith is relieving, so he decides to believe in the ship’s dog. By the way, he learned that she doesn’t care for a name, she says her job is more important.  
But it doesn’t last forever. After about ten days, she comes to him in a hurry.   
“It seems like we’re not going to be keeping you until this darned thing opens up,” she admits to him on a drizzly morning. “You’re being switched ships tomorrow and heading back to London. I’m sorry, but my duty keeps me here. You’re going to be fine, right? He said that there’s someone waiting to pick you up at the docks. I’m hoping they will take care of you—“ ...Cruella? “—oh, things will just be so overwhelming... but I cannot leave my duty! The ship needs to be looked after and my humans need me—“ Hunter laughs, because she always frets too much.   
“I’ll be fine! I am very strong and tough and clever,” He asserts. “And I’m raring to get out. Don’t worry.” She sighs, and he knows she’ll be worrying anyway. “What time does it say on the counter?”

“...010:008:42:12. I can’t believe it’s already been 15 days,” She bemoans. “That’s so long to be trapped in there. Oh, just dreadful. You poor thing.” Once more, she paces at the door. “Well you’ll be out soon. Take care of yourself, alright?”

Hunter nods, even if she can’t see it. “I will. You too, ship’s dog. Don’t let any of those stowaways get under your nose, okay?”

“I’d never.” She sounds serious. “I’ll see you off, okay? But I’ve got to go for now, there’s work to do.” 

“...okay. Goodbye.”  
————————  
The two make quite a fuss at each other as Hunter’s crate is lifted off and changes ships, barking up a storm. It seems it gets on the nerves of the men operating the equipment, as they yell at the dogs, but can’t stop them. He can hear the ship’s dog barking even as the boat he must be on moves away, and he barks back until his voice is raw and she can’t be heard anymore. Then he sleeps.

After he wakes up, he paces and paces and the crate has never felt this small. But he’ll be out soon, somewhere that’s sunny and warm, and it’ll be pleasant. He tears up things that have been torn up countless times before, spills water, eats his meals with rigor and desperation. But despite his pacing, time stretches maddeningly, and the world feels empty. Not even chasing the bouncing ball can get him from stopping feeling so agitated. But when the time comes, he feels it electrifying in every cell in his body. He doesn’t even bark when his crate is lifted, high, high into the air, pressing his breath out of his body. He growls and tenses after it’s set back down, and minutes later, the metal door that seemed immovable creaks open.  
————————  
The first thing he sees is a cat and that overrides all his other thoughts. A cat! Cats are for chasing, because they run and call and well—it’s just classic dog behavior. What luck! Bounding forward with a happy ruff he takes a deep deep breath of fresh night air and flies forward, feeling freedom and rough pavement under his paws. The car screams and runs, and he chases it up a tall man in a suit, who stares at him, shaking him off so he lands flat on his back.

The impact startles him enough to mix up his brain. Blinking, he stares upwards as whatever he was thinking before flees. He’s free now. What does that mean? 

Cuddles. The cat is Cuddles. His cat. He turns and looks behind him.

The open crate is an ominous, almost violent presence. The hollow space looms over him, and looking at it makes him feel ill and confused and everything at once, his memories scrambled and absent. The sight of the empty container fills him with the urge to bark and growl at it, like it’s intimidating him intentionally. But that’s stupid, he’s not a friggin’ dog. Dogs ares stupid. Then what the hell happened in there? What was real and what was not? 

Did... did Cruella really not come for him? He looks up at the burly henchman, who glares back down at him, before staring at the vacuous, haunting space behind him, then down at himself. His clothes, seen properly in blinding light of the shipyard, look disheveled and worn. Slowly, the horror of what has happened dawns on him. 

“...How long was I in there for?”

**Author's Note:**

> Just a fun, slightly messed up fic about a kid trapped in a box! Seriously what the hell 101 Dalmatians street are we just skimming over the isolation and mental trauma Hunter went through that ultimately drove him bonkers wtf??


End file.
